


Need Some Time

by EtoileGarden



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, Romantic Friendship, Romantic Soulmates, Soulmark AU, Soulmates, dumb shit, dumb teenagers, not the greatest parents, poor Gansey has a lot of feelings, soulmark, stenson is in this for like a paragraph fear not, there's also some kid gansey!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 21:24:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20767184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtoileGarden/pseuds/EtoileGarden
Summary: He didn’t notice the second mark, for who knows how long. Only spotting it while changing in the boat house at his boarding school after rowing practice. Stenson, the year above him and muscled and confident in ways Gansey was equally envious and in awe of, brushed his finger against Gansey’s shoulder blade.





	Need Some Time

**Author's Note:**

> hey guys, so i went to bed last night and started writing this in my mind and woke up the next morning and just like, threw this up really quickly before i could run out of steam.  
AS always, this is so unedited that i haven't even reread it since writing it, so, bless y'all who read this knowing it's gonna be full of typos. Love ya.

It had only been the barest handful of months since Richard Gansey the third had died and been brought back to life, and been faced with the distressing reality that there was, in fact, so much more to life than anticipated, and, unfortunately, only so much of this life he could share with his family. 

The blue mark that appeared on his hip, he thought it was a bruise at first. It made sense, even though he couldn’t remember when he’d bruised it. Since his quick stint of death he’d been… unsteady. Like his body was unused to being a body, like it wasn’t sure where it stood between living growth and dying decay. Maybe it was less his body, and more his mind that caused these disparities. He’d put too much effort into moving and would barrel forwards faster and harder than intended and crash into a corner or a piece of furniture. Or. He wouldn’t move fast enough, trying to make up for his barreling clumsiness, and he’d move too slow to avoid the chair being pulled out, or the person stepping sideways. 

He had a lot of bruises those few first months, what was one more, really? He’d poked it when it first appeared, to check it was a bruise. Poked it enough that it did eventually start hurting when poked. 

It didn’t fade though. Not in a week, not in a month, and finally, on the fourth day of the second month he decided it was certainly not usual. He’d done as much sly research as he could, about long lasting bruises, and figured that if he was about to be very ill, it was his duty to inform his parents. 

-

“For how long?” The doctor had asked, laughed when Gansey junior had told him. “Not a bruise,” he said, speaking more to the Gansey seniors than to the child in front of him, “It’s a soulmark.” 

-

Gansey knew a lot about soulmarks. Before the bruise that wasn’t a bruise, but especially after. This wasn’t unusual, everyone was at least quietly fascinated with it. With the idea of tracking down your true love through a symbol, an idea, a smudge permanently marked onto your skin. 

Gansey was so relieved he’d received his mark  _ after _ his quick foray into death, because of course everyone knew that soulmarks faded away after your soulmate died. If he and whoever his blue mark belonged to had been marked before the wasps? Would their smudge have disappeared even though Gansey had come back? Would his have? 

There weren’t enough studies about it done to give him a conclusive answer. Soulmarks were elusive and difficult to track if not reported properly, and no one really reported their soulmarks until they’d found their soulmate, and even then, who really wants to go deliver a quick report of their love to some random scientist? 

-

Nothing came of the smudge in the months following its appearance, so Gansey let it be. He didn’t forget it, of course, he just devoted his attention to other matters, like his death. Like books devoted to explaining and translating certain marks. Like ancient artefacts, and crumbling texts that talked about simple colour splashes. So. Maybe he was spending energy on the soulmark, but, it was all academic. 

-

He didn’t notice the second mark, for who knows how long. Only spotting it while changing in the boat house at his boarding school after rowing practice. Stenson, the year above him and muscled and confident in ways Gansey was equally envious and in awe of, brushed his finger against Gansey’s shoulder blade. 

Gansey jumped, startled by the light touch on bare skin, turned around, his eyebrows up in questioning. 

“Cute tat,” Stenson had said, in the sort of way which meant he knew it wasn’t a tattoo. “When did you get this?” 

Gansey twisted around himself to peer over his shoulder, to catch a glimpse of what he would later examine thoroughly in mirrors and in photos. The simple inked looking feather, smudgy at the quill, sharp at the vane. It looked… unreal. Like it had been plucked straight from some sort of corvid and drifted to his shoulder by chance only. 

“Only,” Stenson said, hooked his fingers around a thin chain around his neck to pull out a pendant in the shape of a bird. “It looks familiar to me.” 

-

It had taken probably too long - just over three weeks - for Stenson to realise that Gansey had more than one mark, for Gansey to realise that Stenson didn’t have any. Gansey had known, though he had kept it shoved down to the pit of his stomach, that people were really only meant to have one mark. That two, or more even, were abnormal, shocking, deviant perhaps. He hadn’t had to face it until Stenson had spat all those words Gansey already knew back in his face. It wasn’t until afterwards, once Gansey had cried himself dry in the shower, that he remembered he had been going to be angry that Stenson didn’t even have a mark himself. 

-

His mother saw the mark only by chance, on his fifteenth birthday when she came into his bedroom early to give him a birthday morning kiss. 

“This had better be pen,” she’d said, pinched his side lightly, “you’re far too young for a tattoo, young man!” 

“It’s not,” Gansey had yawned, still asleep enough not to be defensive, “it’s a soulmark.” 

His mother had looked at him in such a way that Gansey had fully woken up, had began pulling on his defences quickly. 

“Don’t be stupid,” she said, “how stupid do you think I am? I’m not elderly yet, Richard. I haven’t forgotten what your soulmark looks like. This is really a tattoo then?” 

Gansey had gone to shake his head, but his mother had stood up, her own Gansey family defences up to make her into the unshakeable pillar she was to the community. 

“No,” she said, “don’t you dare lie to me, Dicky. We’ll overlook this, this once, as it’s your birthday, but I won’t have you try and pull some other…  _ odd _ thing for you to claim as special about you.” 

Gansey felt very young, young enough that he felt the tears pricking in his eyes. 

“I expect you to handle the removal of it,” his mother had continued, “you know it’s uncouth to get tattoos.” 

-

It was on his sixteenth birthday, which he decided not to celebrate seeing as he’d moved away from his family to attend a new school in Henrietta - a place that somehow felt more like home than any of his so called homes ever had, that it happened again. 

He woke up on the morning of his birthday with a deep ache in his stomach. Like hunger but more brutal. Like a boot to the gut, maybe. When he showered, he saw it. On the hip not smudged with blue, a tiny filigree leaf, a bud curling beside it. He pressed his fingers to it, as if he hoped maybe that it would have been an imprint, a transfer from pen on paper, anything other than something more to mark him as different. It didn’t move. 

-

He met Ronan first. A sarcastic spark of a teenager, long dark curls framing his face, broad shoulders to bump against Gansey’s, a grin that pulled Gansey’s own smile onto his face. They weren’t quite instant friends, but it was a near thing. All it took really was for Ronan to invite Gansey back to his family farm a full week after they’d met at Aglionby. For Gansey to get to wander around fields that felt like magic, dipping in and out of trees laden with fruit, for Ronan to egg him on climbing trees and scraping face, and jumping into the stream that circled the boundaries of the Lynch farm. 

Ronan saw his mark first. 

“Oi,” he’d said, splashed Gansey full in the face with water when Gansey had turned. 

They hadn’t taken their clothes off to swim, Gansey never appeared anywhere without some sort of shirt on, but he suspected his pale pink shirt had gone see through in the water. 

“Me too,” Ronan said, was wrestling his own water logged shirt off while Gansey blinked water out of his eyes. 

He turned to show Gansey his back, the raven -  _ the raven  _ \- etched into his shoulder blade the same place Gansey’s shoulder tingled with his feather. 

Gansey was insistent he would never have a repeat of Stenson. 

“Oh,” he said, tried to keep it to himself how… overjoyed and full his stomach was at seeing the mark. “Ronan.” 

Ronan turned around, disappointment obvious in his face at Gansey’s lack of excitement. He dropped his shirt into the stream, didn’t dance after it as the stream carried it a few feet away to wrap around a rock downstream. 

“You don’t think they’re matches, man?” Ronan asked, his voice low and full of gravel. “But I thought -” he trailed off, his face hardening. 

Gansey rushed to try and smooth at least something over. 

“I think they match,” he said quickly, his hand had danced over shoulder to press into his back where his mark was still tingling. “I can  _ feel _ it matching, it’s just -” 

Ronan nodded, quick and sharp. Gansey thought it was in acknowledgment of the tingle until Ronan spoke again. “You’re not into guys,” Ronan said with a shrug. “You don’t wanna act on it.” 

“No,” Gansey tried again, sighed, tried to stop his mind from buzzing with all the things his schools had taught him about how… how same sex marks were often simply platonic. Soulmates, but like  _ brothers _ , boys, a soulmark isn’t an indicator of  _ sexuality _ . You’re free to marry a lovely girl and live a  _ normal _ life. 

“No,” he said, “it’s just. I have more.” 

“What?” Ronan asked, just the one eyebrow lifting. “You have… more soulmarks?” 

Gansey nodded, a quick movement, like ripping a bandaid off. Trying to minimise the pain. “I don’t know what it means,” he said to the water around their knees, “but I have three. Three marks. I don’t want to - don’t want to lead you on.” 

“Man,” Ronan said, was wading closer to Gansey again, crossing the distance that Gansey had unthinkingly put between them. “Same. Well. I’ve two. Two marks.” 

“What?” Gansey looked up now, knew his face was twisted and marked with confusion. “How - you do?” 

Ronan wore a collection of thick leather bracelets around his wrist, his left wrist, and Gansey blinked in confusion as Ronan shoved them further up his arm, not much, just enough for Gansey to be able to see the mark there. 

It was a hand, oddly enough. A tiny hand, delicate looking with its think lines and long fingers. Outstretched like it was reaching for something. 

“Oh,” Gansey breathed, reached to brush his fingertips against it, thrilled to feel Ronan’s pulse heavy and hard beneath it. “ _ Oh _ .” 

“Show me yours,” Ronan said, “I’ve never - I’ve never met anyone else with more.” 

Gansey showed him his. They climbed back onto the grassy bank, uncaring about the dirt smearing onto their clothes. Ronan helped him take his shirt off, rubbed his thumb against Gansey’s hip bones. 

“There’s very little research around multiple marks,” Gansey said, when they lay shoulder to shoulder in the grass and sun. “Well. Very little where the author is unbiased.” 

“Unbiased?” Ronan asked. He had his hand held up in the sky, as if to block the sun from their faces, or to examine his wrist. The sun burned through his hand until it glowed pink against Gansey’s eyes. 

“Well,” Gansey closed his eyes, “some… academics believe that, well -” 

“Ah yeah,” Ronan’s voice wasn’t quite a snarl, but close. “All gays go to hell, yeah?” 

Gansey shrugged. 

“So tell me about the unbiased ones,” Ronan suggested, dropped his hand down to rest in the dirt beside Gansey’s. 

“I’ve only found a few,” Gansey murmured, let himself wriggle his fingers in the sun warm soil until they brushed against Ronan’s. “But they - they suggest that - that for some people, multiple marks can mean - can mean many things.” 

“Oh,” Ronan snorted, “how useful.” 

“Let me finish,” Gansey said, laughed a little as well. “It could be that it’s… it’s because there are multiple people we’ll be with at once. Um. Polyamorous? I think. Um. Or it could be that… well. That we have more than one soulmark because… because our first soulmate will, uh, die.” 

“Cheerful,” Ronan said, shifted until he was holding Gansey’s hand. 

Gansey swallowed down his heart, and continued. “Or,” he said, “it could be that we have soulmates who are our soulmates in different ways.” 

“So like,” Ronan said, “One of the marks could be for like, your soulmate  _ best fucking friend _ , and the other could be for the love of your life?” 

“I suppose,” Gansey nodded, “I don’t know how to explain three, though.” 

“Maybe one dies,” Ronan said, laughed, then sobered again quickly. “Sorry,” he said, “hey.” 

“Mm?” 

“Which do you think we are?” Ronan rolled onto his side, lifting their joined hands so he wouldn’t squish them bringing them to rest between his chest and Gansey’s shoulder. 

“I don’t know,” Gansey said truthfully, “but I - no. I don’t know.” 

“Guess we’ll have to wait and see,” Ronan said, his cheerfulness sounding only slightly fake, “and get used to being soulmates, huh?” 

-

He met Noah next. After all the shit had gone down. After Ronan’s father had been murdered. After Ronan’s mother had just… ceased. After Ronan had fallen out with Declan, and been afraid of hurting Matthew, and had moved in with Gansey, and had shaved off all his beautiful hair, and shifted his beautiful smile into a tragic frown, and had gone out of town and disappeared for a full day and come home with a black melting tattoo over the entirety of his back. 

“Ro,” Gansey had whispered, smearing the cream (Ronan had handed him without a word before taking his shirt off and turning around) over the expanse of black lines. “Why?” 

“I didn’t cover you up,” Ronan replied, his voice harsh and raw, but muffled into the pillow he was face down on. “You’re part of it.” 

It was true. Gansey’s raven was still there, not criss crossed in ink, but part of the bigger picture. Flowers bloomed around it, tendrils trickled down from it, leading it into the smash of ink. Or possibly the smash of ink was being lead out by the raven. 

Noah spoke from behind them. 

“It’s beautiful,” he said, “it’ll be more beautiful when it’s healed, and you with it.” 

“Fuck off, Noah,” Ronan groaned, though he didn’t sound anymore upset by Noah’s words. 

Later, when Ronan was asleep on his stomach in his new room, and Gansey was washing the cream and specks of ink and dried blood off of his hands in the bathroom, Noah came in. 

He waited until Gansey turned the tap off and looked to face him, and then he lifted one hand carefully, and brushed the small scar beneath Gansey’s eye. 

“We match,” he said, voice soft. 

It was true, at least a little. Noah had a dark smudge underneath his eye as well, bigger than Gansey’s small scar, scarier to look at. 

“Oh,” he said, caught Noah’s hand with his own. “Noah,” he sighed, “I’m sorry. It’s not a mark. It’s a scar.” 

Noah didn’t look disappointed, he shook his head. “No,” he said, “I know. From the wasps. I know. We both died, didn’t we? Our marks appeared and disappeared at the same time and left these scars.” 

Gansey was almost certain he had never told Noah about his death and about the wasps. Only almost certain because he couldn’t quite, at this very moment, place when he’d met Noah, when Noah had moved in with him and Ronan, when Noah had become so dear to him… 

“Not all marks are pretty,” Noah said softly, “but they still all mean something.” 

-

They met Adam when Ronan’s tattoo was mostly healed, when Noah was a constant third to their being, when Gansey’s pride and joy of a car had broken down. 

Gansey saw it first. Adam was elbow deep in the front of his car, had taken his watch off of his right wrist so as to not bang it against the greasy innards. The dark ink of the hand inside his wrist was so familiar, there was no way Gansey wouldn’t be able to place it. Unlike Ronan’s, it was thicker, the lines a little darker, a little rougher. Gansey had gasped. 

“Alright?” Adam had asked, glancing up at Gansey and pausing in his slow and steady instructions for how to fix what had gone wrong inside the pig. 

“Your wrist,” Gansey breathed. 

Adam’s eyes flicked from his own hand to Gansey’s wrists, and he frowned, heavy, confused. 

“We don’t match,” he said, voice slow and heavy with Henrietta. 

“No,” Gansey shook his head, “but I know who you do match with.” 

He had expected Adam to be overjoyed, for his serious face to morph into joy. It didn’t. If anything, the crease between his brows grew deeper. 

“Don’t tell me,” he said, nearly a whisper, “I can’t. Not now.” 

Gansey was disappointed. For himself, for Ronan, for Adam, but. He knew better than some, the dark look in Adam’s eyes. The look you have when you’re on a precipice. He’d seen it in ronan’s far too often. In the mirror far too often. 

“Are you sure?” He whispered back. 

Adam shook his head, his mouth a flat line. “I’m not worth it,” he replied. 

Worth it or not, Gansey wasn’t letting him go easily, or at all, he hoped. He invited Adam into the car with them. Sought him out at school. Talked at him about Glendower, and ley lines until he wasn’t talking at him but with him. Mediated between him and Ronan while they sniped at each other. Relieved that he and Noah were calm between them. 

Didn’t see Adam’s hip for a long time. Not really surprising. It wasn’t like Gansey bared  _ his _ hips for viewing much either. 

-

They were on what Ronan had dubbed as ‘Glendower haunts’, which really, were just hikes around the forest in and surrounding Henrietta, following old trails, and cold trails, and new hints alike. 

It was a hot day, hotter than the most surrounding it, and Gansey was pleased to be away from the town, pleased that they had a sudden free day off of school for a teacher’s day, pleased to be spending it with his friends - his  _ soulmates _ . 

Ronan and Adam still sniped at each other half the time, but it was so friendly now that Gansey wasn’t sure it could still be classified as sniping. Ronan still wore his leather bracelets over his mark, Adam still wore his watch. Gansey was reasonably certain neither of them knew, thought the trouble of keeping it to himself was eating Gansey up all over. 

They had skidded over the top of a hill, scuffing their trainers in the sun hard dusty dirt, and tripped right into a patch of gorse. Gansey managed to only catch his laces, to be able to pull free easily, but Ronan and Adam - busy with a shoving match - both toppled directly into the gorse. Noah, a few feet behind, avoided this altogether and simply laughed at the two of them caught by brambles and thorns and each other. 

Ronan managed to squirm out first, uncaring for his clothes tearing, and then turned to assist Adam, who had managed to get upright, but was caught in a million points. As he moved, and Ronan gently uncaught bits of his skin and fabric, his shirt hiked up over his hip, and ripped jeans dragged down low with the fall, so his bones stuck out high above the waist band, and Gansey could see the trail of hair starting at his belly button. 

Could see the ring of flowers in the hollow of his hip. Filagree. Beautiful. A flower crown. Ronan’s hand brushed over it a moment, as he tugged Adam’s shirt down at Adam’s request. Too late, Adam. 

“Too posh to lend a hand, huh?” Ronan asked, no more than a moment later, he and Adam standing smirking and scratched up in front of Gansey. “And you too, Noah!” Ronan added, “You can fucking stop laughing now.” 

Gansey wasn’t laughing. He stepped forwards, hand outstretched. Ronan, still looking at Noah, didn’t seem to notice, but Adam did. Took a step back. Adam’s step back alerted Ronan that something was up. He frowned at Gansey. 

“What’s up, man?” He asked, suddenly peeling away from Adam’s side to go to Gansey’s. “Hey? You ok?” 

It was so ridiculous that Ronan’s other soulmate was Gansey’s other soulmate. That they were all here. That Gansey was the only one who knew they were all here. 

He didn’t want to… to  _ push _ Adam. Adam hated being pushed. Pushed back just as hard at any nudge. At Gansey pushing him to eat more, to accept more. To move away from his parents and his bruising trailer and move in with him and Ronan - a safe haven for broken boys like them, with beautiful marks like them. 

He couldn’t not, though. He had so many secrets in his skin. So many things he felt were wrong with them. But. Being soulmates with Ronan had been one of the best fucking things of his life. Being soulmates with Adam too? It was beyond a dream. 

He lifted the edge of his own shirt, pushing down the waist of his hiking shorts, revealing the tiny leaf and bud he’d only ever shown Ronan. 

Adam’s eyes didn’t even widen when he saw it. He stepped away again, though, took in a breath sharp enough that Gansey could see his chest move. 

“What?” Ronan asked, his hand going seemingly automatically down to Gansey’s hip, as if he were planning on covering, like Gansey was accidentally baring this secret. 

“Adam,” Gansey sighed, knew he was too far on the edge of pleading to be acceptable for a Gansey. “Please.” 

“I,” Adam said, his eyes flicking from Gansey’s hips and away, into the blue of the sky, into the smudge of Henrietta. “Gansey, you can’t - you know - it isn’t -” 

“Please,” Gansey repeated. 

Adam was looking only away now. Ronan’s hand had found Gansey’s, like he hadn’t quite put everything together but could feel Gansey’s anxiety prickling under his own skin as well. 

“I’m not,” Adam said slowly. Noah was behind him. Had long stopped laughing. “I’m not good enough for you, Gansey.” 

Gansey hated this. 

In all other aspects of life Adam fought to prove he was good enough, was as good, was better than most people. He was a scholar with his head held high, a prince of ambition, a gem in a dark world. It hurt to hear him compare himself to Gansey and decide he didn’t make the mark. 

“Adam,” Gansey tried again, “Adam, you are better for me than my own skin.” 

Maybe he was trying too hard. He wasn’t lying, though. He may not have known Adam for long - only a few months had they been really close. But. They spent as much of their free time as possible together - the four of them. They talked about everything. They dreamed, and explored, and - God. Gansey wanted the excuse, the permission, to get to reach out to Adam and have Adam reach back and hold onto him too. 

“You’re not alone,” Gansey continued, voice breaking, hating how cheesy he was sounding. “I have  _ four  _ marks, Parrish. Ronan, Noah? We’re all marked.” 

Adam looked like he felt cornered. Like Gansey had chased him into a trap and stood over him with a weapon. 

“I need some time,” Adam said, quietly, slowly, apologetically. “I’m sorry, Gans.” 

-

He kissed Ronan for the first time, that night. Maybe a little selfishly. He knew Ronan and Adam were marked too, wasn’t stupid, had seen how the two of them looked at each other. But he needed - it was comfort. It was familiar. Ronan kissed him back softly, his hands cupping Gansey’s face gently, keeping the kiss light and careful. 

“He’ll come around,” Ronan said once Gansey had pulled back, and rested his head on Ronan’s shoulder. “He loves you.” 

“Are you jealous?” Gansey asked. Ronan laughed.

“You trying to stop me from being jealous, by kissing me?” 

“Maybe,” Gansey admitted. 

“I’m a little jealous,” Ronan admitted right back. 

Gansey sighed, sniffed, let Ronan take his hand from the sheets. 

“Of which one of us?” He asked. 

“What?” Ronan mumbled. 

“Are you jealous of me, or of him?” Gansey clarified. 

Ronan shrugged. “Well,” he said. “I thought, y’know, that you and me? We’d decided we were just - best friends.” 

“I don’t know how to decide things,” Gansey murmured. “Not without all the facts.” 

“Nerd,” Ronan sighed, fond, “maybe you should kiss Noah, too.” 

-

“Who is it?” Adam asked, the moment Gansey opened the door to him the following morning. “On my wrist?” 

“Oh,” Gansey said, “good morning.” 

Adam sighed, his shoulders slumping. He stepped inside, letting his arms brush against Gansey, then turned to lean against the wall while Gansey shut the door. 

“Adam,” Gansey said, careful, “are you alright?” 

“No,” Adam said, as truthful as he got, “I’ve been awake all night trying to figure this out. Please. I need to know who else my marks belong to.” 

“The belong to you, too,” Gansey said, and Adam huffed out a noise of frustration. 

Ronan’s bedroom door opened behind them. He knew Noah was already watching from his own doorway. 

“I can’t do anything without knowing,” Adam sighed, lifted his hands to scrub at his face, “I need to know before I can move forwards.” 

“Huh,” Ronan called, voice light and sleepy behind them, “can’t make a decision without knowing all the facts.” 

“Ronan,” Gansey called back, held his hand out behind him, fingers making grabbing movements until Ronan’s hand was in his. 

“Adam,” Ronan said, his chest warm against the back of Gansey’s shoulder. “You have two marks?” 

“Gansey didn’t say?” Adam asked, he looked confused. “I thought --” 

“I didn’t,” Gansey acknowledged, “you asked me not to. And I - look. I know we should have told you earlier that Ronan and Noah and I are marked together. It’s just -” 

“It’s personal,” Adam nodded, his hands moving to grip his upper arms, holding himself together tightly. “I get why you didn’t tell me.” 

“I was scared,” Gansey corrected, “because I know who else you’re marked to, and I didn’t want - I didn’t know how to -” 

“Just tell me,” Adam interrupted. “Who?” 

“Take off your watch,” Gansey mumbled, too much of a coward right here and now to say the proper words. 

Adam looked at him, then unbuckled his watch, held it in his other hand, held his wrist up for viewing. Gansey was.... Was impressed. At how vulnerable this was. Showing his mark - his second mark - to others. On purpose. 

He could feel Ronan’s reaction behind him, a full body shudder. An inhale. A release of want turned into  _ have _ . 

“It’s  _ you _ ,” Ronan said, “it’s you, of course it’s you.” 

Adam was looking past Gansey now, which Gansey knew would happen. His eyes locked with Ronan as Ronan all but tore off the bracelets, bared his own wrist. 

Adam turned and left the room. Ronan tore after him. 

Noah floated to fill the gap Ronan had left, took Gansey’s hand in his own chilly one. 

“Don’t be scared,” Noah said, “they’ll both come back to you. You’re not losing them.” 

“I know,” Gansey said, smiled miserably. 

“Ronan was right,” Noah said. 

“About what?” 

“You should kiss me too,” Noah said, his face suddenly cheeky, “a boy might feel left out, all his friends in love with each other but not getting kissed.” 

Gansey eyed up the front door, the closed front door. Turned to Noah, eyed up how pink his usually colourless cheeks were, how dark his eyes. Kissed him as gently as he’d kissed Ronan, let Noah kiss him back as carefully as Ronan had kissed him. 

-

It took two days. Two days of Gansey pretending he wasn’t miserable and worried and scared. Two days of Ronan telling him it was going to be fine, that they all knew that Adam always needed to spend enough time to sort everything out in his head before he could do anything with it. Two days of knowing that after Ronan had chased after Adam, Adam had kissed him, hot and heavy, and Ronan hadn’t returned to Gansey until late that night, his cheeks bright.

“He wants you too,” Ronan mumbled as Gansey pored over his journal and Ronan fiddled with a lump of clay he was slowly turning into a clay bird. “So much.” 

“He wants you in a different way,” Gansey replied. 

“And?” Ronan shot back, “You want me in a different way to him, too. And Noah. And I want you in a different way to him. I don’t get why you’re… why you’re jealous over him but you weren’t over me and Noah.” 

“Because it’s so different,” Gansey gritted out at his journal. “You know that. I don’t know what I want. You do, and Adam knows when it comes to you, but not to me?” 

“Give him time,” Ronan said, soothing even though it didn’t come naturally to him. “Let it be enough for now, that he wants you too.” 

-

Adam came over that night. After the clay had become a bird and was sitting in their clumsy oven cooling down. After Gansey had taken out his contacts and put on his glasses. 

He let himself in, joined Gansey sitting on his bed. 

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” Adam said in lieu of a hello. He’d already taken Gansey’s hand before he’d spoken. 

“I’m sorry for putting you on the spot,” Gansey replied, squeezed Adam’s hand in his. 

“Don’t be,” Adam sighed. “It was - I asked you too. I only hoped it was Ronan. Now I know.” 

“You never hoped for me?” 

“I didn’t dare.” Adam’s laugh was short and sharp, and Gansey squeezed his hand in his again, a silent question. “Are you upset?” Adam asked. “About me and Ronan?” 

“No,” Gansey said after a few moments of mulling it over. “No. I mean - a little -” Adam laughed quietly. “But not really. I’m not losing either of you.” 

“No,” Adam agreed, “because we’re both your soulmates, Gansey. Your fucking soulmates.” 

“You love me?” Gansey asked, knew it was a little cruel to ask so much from Adam so quickly. 

Adam leaned in closer to Gansey, until his breath was on Gansey’s cheek. 

“Yes,” he said, quiet, “of course I do.” 

Gansey wasn’t going to press him to say the words. This was enough. He turned his head so they were nose to nose, going almost cross eyed to look at Adam. 

“Seal it with a kiss?” Adam murmured, “So I’m not the odd one out?” 

Ronan must have told Adam about their kiss. Gansey actually quite liked that. 

“Will Ronan mind?” Gansey asked. 

“No,” Ronan replied. 

Gansey jumped a little, hadn’t heard Ronan coming out of his room. “Ronan?” 

“I don’t mind,” Ronan said, Gansey’s bed dipping on the other side as he sat down behind Gansey. “It’s different.” 

“Mm,” Gansey said. 

“Still important,” Adam said. 

He’d turned and tucked one leg up under him so he was turned towards Ronan as well. He reached out around Gansey, took Ronan’s hand in his. His right hand to Ronan’s left, hands always reaching for each other. 

“Still important,” Gansey nodded. 

Adam kissed him. Lifted his other hand to Gansey’s cheek, rubbed his thumb over the scar beneath his eye, kissed him soft and long and warm until Gansey felt like his lungs were bursting. 

“Adam,” he breathed when Adam pulled back again, “ _ Adam _ .” 

“Ronan?” Adam said, his face still so close to Gansey’s that Gansey could have lifted his chin and found his lips again. 

Ronan didn’t reply verbally, just leaned in, kissed Gansey as well, his lips softer than Adam’s, his kiss harder. Gansey barely had time to breathe again after Ronan had kissed him before Ronan was kissing Adam as well, right there, in front of his face. 

“Oh,” Gansey said, exhaled heavily. 

“See?” Ronan mumbled, his other hand coming up to Gansey’s cheek, so he and Adam were framing his face. “We fucking love you, see?” 

“Again?” Noah called out from his bedroom, “Why do you guys always start the kissing without me?” 

“Ok, you himbo,” Ronan snorted. “It’s not on purpose, come over here and get a kiss, huh?” 

-

They met Blue not even a year later. The four of them hot on the trail of a Glendower lead, Adam suggesting they visit psychics to try and clear the path a little more in their minds. They arrived to a crazy looking house, children running around, some lanky beautiful woman in an orange jumpsuit slinking past them. 

The four of them sat in the reading room, three psychics in front of them, the daughter of one of them behind them. 

Maura took Gansey’s hand, her daughter’s hand resting on her shoulder, and then released him just as quickly. 

“Oh for fucks sake,” she said, glanced up at her shoulder, “this guy?” 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Sorry it doesn't have Henry! in my head Gans and blue get their henry marks soon, but haven't yet. Also, sorry if you were hoping for some proper Gansey and Blue fluff!!! My steam ran out lol.


End file.
